


But, there, the silver answer rang

by CeleritasSagittae



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Body Horror, Dragon Age Remix Fest 2017, Dubious Consent, F/M, Make It Worse, Other, POV swap from the original fic, with some changes, with some nasty sexual imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 20:39:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19217122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeleritasSagittae/pseuds/CeleritasSagittae
Summary: The Nightmare's reach is long, and leaves none unscathed—even those who are currently out of its range.





	But, there, the silver answer rang

**Author's Note:**

  * For [withthebreezesblown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthebreezesblown/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Between the Shadow and the Soul](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10875297) by [withthebreezesblown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthebreezesblown/pseuds/withthebreezesblown). 



> Title comes from [Sonnet 1](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43733/sonnets-from-the-portuguese-1-i-thought-once-how-theocritus-had-sung) of Elizabeth Barrett Browning's _Sonnets from the Portuguese_. Too many people chatted with me about whether someone would be able to remix the original fic into something worse. The success or failure of the exercise is left to the reader.

She hardly remembers fighting the Song.  It feels like a dream, now, something she used to do as a child, before she knew better.

She knows, now.  She knows that everything will be one, and when it is, everything she’d dreamed of, everything she sacrificed for, will finally come true.  It will be beautiful and it will be glorious and they will be one forever.  And they will be the ones to make it happen.

She had asked him to join her, before.  She doesn’t remember why, but it must have been so he could share in the glory of this, the glory of becoming _more_. She only minds a little, though, that he hasn’t come yet.  He is worth waiting for, she knows, and the longer the wait, the sweeter the reunion, as she cocoons him in her love.  They will never be parted after this, she knows.

She sings to him every night, and every night she feels him draw nearer.  He is not complete, not yet, but she can help him.  She _will_ help him.  He will feel better if she is the one to complete him.  He always did.

And then, one morning, he is there, in front of her, in the flesh.  She cocks her head as she stares at him.  He is just as handsome as she remembers.  She remembers seeing the potential in him, years ago, but she was blind then.  Now she sees, and she can see so much _more_. His spirit, his heart, is too great for this humble shell.

“Alistair,” she says, looking down on him fondly.  “I’ve been waiting for you. You said you would come—you promised.”

“I know,” he replies, his face shining as he looks up at her.

She has missed him, but he is here now, just as he promised.  She tells him.

“Yes,” he says, stepping forward.  She sings to him, and he replies in time, in tune, a beautiful chant they’ll use to create the world anew.

She beckons him closer still, and runs a tendril across his cheek.  In the Song, all the things that had come between them are stripped away. They don’t matter anymore, because this is so much better than any of the fumbling plans she’d made before her eyes were opened.  There are no limits in the Song.  “It’s all we ever wanted, isn’t it? We’ll remake the world. You and me. We’ll remake everything. You and me and our beautiful babies.”

“Yes, yes,” he whimpers, his eyes closing in rapture, and she prepares to receive him…

“ _No._ ”

His eyes are open again, and his hand on the pommel of his sword.  It takes her a moment to realize what is happening, but when he cuts off the tendril that had caressed him so sweetly, she understands.  He is trying to hurt her.

He hurt her once before, she remembers, but it was hardly his fault then.  And it is hardly his fault now. He doesn’t understand, not fully, for he isn’t complete yet.

But she is patient. She will wait until he understands.

She calls the power of the Song to her hands, channels lightning through him, and when he smites her he apologizes through his tears—“Maker, Solona, I’m sorry I let this happen”—but the Song gives her strength, and eventually he collapses on the floor.  Crooning sweetly to him, she cradles him to her, and pushes healing magic into his limbs until he stirs again.

“I love you,” she says.

He opens his eyes and smiles so brightly at her, before he turns his face away.  “No, you don’t,” he replies.  “Not like this.”

“Hush,” she says. “We’re together now.  I’m yours.”

“No, you’re not,” he says, before she can start singing to him, and the smite hits her so hard that she drops him.

He picks up his sword.

Each time she defeats him, she is careful not to kill.  There are always others, she knows, but it won’t be the same if it isn’t him.  He deserves to share in this with her.  So she keeps healing him, and singing to him, for as long as it takes, until at last she has sung to his approval and he understands.

He is scarred and blind in one eye by the time he finally kneels before her in devotion, jaw slack as his good eye stares up at her.

“Make love to me,” she whispers, and he does.

It is the sweetest ecstasy she has known, the music fusing their souls together as their bodies unite. She rakes her fingers into his back, and sucks the blood and viscera from them with a desperate hunger.  When she snaps his forearm to suck out the marrow, he thrusts the jagged end inside her, and she shudders with pleasure as it penetrates her skin.

And then, a peace that she has never known fills her soul.  She can already feel his seed taking root inside her.  The burned side of his face rests against her, and they breathe as one as he pants adulations against her skin.  They sound garbled, but that is to be expected, with half of his face and his entire front already bonded to her.  She will finish absorbing him as their children grow, and then they will truly be one flesh…

* * *

Solona wakes with a start, silence ringing in her ears, scrambles to the edge of the camp, and vomits. “Fuck!” she heaves, as bile and tears mingle on the ground.  “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!”

“Easy, there, Commander,” she hears behind her, and looks back to see Oghren ambling up to her. “Heh—if I didn’t know better, I’d ask who finally managed to knock you up.”

Her stomach lurches again, and he must catch the panic in her eyes, because soon—bless him—he’s pressing a flask of something strong in her hands and muttering something about the hair of the dog.

She gulps it down greedily. “It was just a dream,” she says, repeating it for good measure when her heart doesn’t seem to get the hint.  She shouldn’t be having the dreams the Inquisition’s letter told her about; she’s too far away…

…but Alistair isn’t.

How could she have forgotten?

She’s halfway to the writing desk when she remembers that the raven is already gone, bearing a note that’s entirely too Commander-like and makes no mention of Ferelden’s king.

(And why would it?  He wants her to forget about him, and if it’ll help him move on, she’ll pretend.)

So instead, Solona is left to bury her head in her arms, and hope she finds the Cure before it’s too late.

She will be his ruin if she can’t.


End file.
